The Geneticist & the Frog - Prologue
Title: The Geneticist and the Frog
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Author's Notes: This is an expansion on my fic " I Know This Story". I know you're all probably disappointed that I'm doing The Princess and the Frog and not Aladdin or The Little Mermaid, but right now, I'm dying for that movie, so this is helping me kill time before the DVD is released. I took some liberties with the ages of characters, so please don't bother pointing out if So-And-So is too young/too old. Keep in mind that, like The Princess and the Frog, this story takes place in an idealized 1920s New Orleans.
It had all started with a book. Any ordinary book, but a book none the less.
They had finished their lessons early and the Bennet children -- so well behaved and sweet when they wanted to be -- kept begging and pleading for a story. Never one to deny his favorite pupils, their tutor had given in. Tonight was Claire's turn to choose the tale, much to her brother's dismay. Lyle had grunted and groaned and rolled his eyes in the least dignified manner, knowing exactly which book his older sibling would choose. It was the same one she chose every single night. Mohinder didn't really mind. It was behavior typical of young children: once they found something that interested them, they wanted to hear about it endlessly, until they were either thoroughly sick of the subject or even more enamored than before.
"And then," he read, the words so familiar that he barely even had to glance at the text to know what line came next or just how to say it, "the ugly little frog looked up with his sad round eyes and pleaded 'Oh please dear Princess, only a kiss from you can free me from this terrible spell that was inflicted on me by a wicked witch!'"
Claire gushed, swooning happily as she clutched her stuffed bear to her chest. She absolutely adored this part and it was always a struggle for him to keep reading instead of bursting into fitful laughter at the sight.
"So moved was she by his pleas, that the Princess scooped down, picked up the slipper little creature and kissed him on the lips."
This line evoked the usual reaction. Claire emitted her typical, dreamy "awwww" as Lyle scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue, a groan of "Ew! Kissing!" escaping his lips. Poor boy. Not that Mohinder could imagine reacting much differently when he was that age.
"And lo, the spell was broken and the frog became a Prince once more," he continued, chuckling as he spoke. "They were married and lived happily ever after."
"Read it again! Read it again!" Claire chanted, bouncing up and down from her seat on the floor.
"No way!" Lyle groused. "Once was enough."
"I'm afraid, Lyle's right," Mohinder said, trying his best to hide the fond smile behind his hand. "It's getting rather late and I should be heading home."
"Mohinder, would you ever kiss a frog?" Claire asked him suddenly, as if he had never spoken.
He felt his eyes widen and a hint of pink color his cheeks at the question. They had probably read through The Frog Prince a dozen times since he had started his tutorship with the Bennets, less than a year ago, yet this was the first time the six year old had ever asked him such a question. "Well, uh... no," he said finally, gently.
"Not even if it asked you to?" Lyle pushed and Mohinder had to wonder where this sudden bout of curiosity had come from.
Yet he pushed aside the confusion and allowed himself to see the humor in the situation. After all, they were merely children being children. It was only natural for the fantasy world of a fairy tale to linger in their minds even when the story had come to a close.
"Well, if the frog could actually ask me something, then I suppose I'd be better off studying it as opposed to kissing it."
"Mohinder, you're so sciencey," Claire exclaimed, running over to her toy chest and grabbing the tiara and wand her parents had purchased for her just a few days ago. He had to admit, he felt like a bit of a failure as a tutor to hear his pupil use the word "sciencey." Claire beamed innocently, plucking the tiara on her head and doing a little twirl, causing ruffles on her pink dress to plum and deflate. "I'd kiss a hundred frogs if I could marry a prince and be a real princess."
"What's so great about princes?" Lyle huffed, picking up a toy sword that Mohinder was certain he had hidden away at the start of their lesson. "They don't get to slay dragons or look for buried treasure. I'd rather be a knight or a pirate than a stupid ol' prince."
The Indian chuckled, patting the boy's golden head fondly. "Well your life will certainly be full of excitement, although there'll be plenty of danger."
Lyle looked up and gave him a wide smile, proudly displaying the gaps in his mouth where teeth should have been. "Danger is good."
It was then that the door creaked open and a fluffy golden Pomeranian scurried in. The creature scampered over to Claire, yapping happily as she scooped him into her arms. The pup was a new addition to the Bennet brood, having only been purchased a few short months ago, and had become an instant favorite among the household.
"Will you be my Prince Charming, Mr. Muggles?" Claire asked, her response an enthusiastic series of licks courtesy of the excited puppy.
Heavy footsteps soon approached the room and Mohinder quickly grabbed his things, stuffing them into his satchel. "Did the lesson go well?" HRG asked. It was a well known fact that the man's proper name was Noah Bennet, but hardly anyone ever called him that. Most simply referred to him as HRG because of the peculiar spectacles he wore.
"Just fine," Mohinder assured, beaming politely in spite of his sudden yearning to escape the Bennet estate. He didn't get on well with HRG. He was a fine man in most ways, a well respected member of the community and a decent sort of fellow, but Mohinder didn't like him. HRG was always flashing him a condescending smile and talking down to him. Honestly, the man seemed convinced that just because they were a few years apart in age, he could treat him like a child. It was a fact that the sixteen year old whole heartedly resented. "They are bright children."
HRG smiled, glancing over at Claire who was busy trying to place a frog hat on Mr. Muggles's furry head and Lyle who was swatting at air. "Yes, a clever pair," he chuckled.
"I should be on my way," Mohinder announced. "My parents will wonder where I am."
"I'll give you a ride," the man instantly volunteered -- like he always did -- but Mohinder refused -- like he always did.
What would his father say if he saw him being driven home by the richest man in town? Even if the Bennets were new money and a kind set, it still seemed quite improper to take hand outs from anyone.
"No, that's alright. I'll take the trolley. Goodnight, sir."
He left quickly, not wanting to continue the usual back and forth banter that the two typically engaged in, because it truly was getting late and his mother -- and perhaps even his father -- would be wondering about him.
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It always amazed him how quickly the estates of the upper class residence shifted into the run down slums and shacks that made up his neighborhood. America was truly a wonderful place, if you were of the right set. The Suresh family, however, were at several disadvantages.
They were not a wealthy bunch. They had been fairly well off back in India, but somehow the bit of money that they had had been lost during the move to the other side of the ocean -- that was how Mohinder choose to look at it, because even he had to admit that he was still too young to completely comprehend matters of finance. They were foreign, and in this land of opportunity, such a thing was severely frowned upon. Once someone heard their distinctly different accents a cavern of differences seemed to open up and engulf them all. Yet worst of all, they were most certainly not white, and that seemed to seal the fate of their experiences in this new country.
Many nights Mohinder would lay awake thinking of home, his real home in India, and wonder why they had come to this strange new world. He didn't have to look far for his answer, however, as it was always sitting hunched over at the dinner table waiting for him with an indifferent grunt or a thoughtful "humph."
The instant he stepped through the door his mother was by his side, cupping his cheeks in her hands and giving his forehead a tender kiss. 'Welcome home, darling,' his mother greeted in their native tongue. (English was spoken on the streets and Tamil was reserved for home.) 'How was your day?'
'Fine I suppose,' he said, setting his satchel down next to the door, though he knew he shouldn't. It was a habit his mother hated. She was so fearful someone would trip over it. Yet there was never anywhere to set things down in their tiny home. There was no living room or family room (as there had been in their old house in India), there was merely a dining room and kitchen, and his father had confiscated the dining room for his work area. No matter how hard his mother tried to tidy up, there would always be books and papers lying about, things that could not be moved because father had them arranged in a way that only he would be able to make sense of.
A brief silence filled the house hold as Mohinder waited for his father to acknowledge his presence. For the longest time, the Indian man merely sat there, staring at his text and tapping pencil to paper, silent save for the occasional "hmm."
His mother cleared her throat impatiently, gaining her husband's attention. His eyes lifted and he quickly looked towards her and then to Mohinder, offering the teenager a short smile in greeting. 'Hello son,' he said before turning his gaze back to his notes. 'Is dinner almost ready, dear?'
Mohinder watch with mild amusement as his mother rolled her eyes and threw up her arms in defeat. There was simply no use in trying to change his father.
-+-+-+-
He had just begun to turn down his bed when a soft rap came on his door. Mohinder walked over and opened the door, revealing his mother's kind smile and worried eyes staring up at him. His gaunt, awkward teenage body had grown significantly over the past few months. What had once been stubby arms and legs had turned to long, lean limbs seemingly overnight. It was still strange getting used to being able to tower over his mother and father the way he did.
'I just wanted to talk to you,' she said softly. 'If it's alright... were you studying?'
He had been and frankly Mohinder was far too worn out to talk. The young man would not admit it out loud, but handling school and a tutoring job were overwhelming at times, especially when he could not settle for maintaining decent grades, but had to outperform the other students in order to appease his seemingly relentless father. Yet he saw the worry and love in his mother's eyes and knew that he couldn't say no.
'Just finished,' he told her. 'I can talk.'
She nodded gratefully, stepping inside and going to sit on his stiff, straw mattress. Mohinder sat down beside her, knowing he should, and waited patiently for her to speak.
'I wanted to talk with you... about your father,' she began, and Mohinder had to strive not to roll his eyes. It was always about his father. 'I know he can be difficult and at times seem distant, but he really does love you. It's just-'
'I understand, mother,' he cut in, because he did understand. 'It's the book.'
In truth, it wasn't really the book. It was this tiny little house, his frustratingly under paying job, the disappointing country, and Shanti, always Shanti even if no one spoke of her anymore. They lived a stressful life in a frustrating world and his father was dealing with it as best as he could; by throwing himself into his work.
It was the book that had brought them to this country, the book and the dream of getting it published. His father had so many wonderful ideas, but no one in their home land would listen to him. He had been convinced that things would be different in America, because America was the Promise Land, the Land of Opportunity, where everything would be different. Instead it was all worse and instead of letting the guilt take him down, his father kept believing that his dream would come true and that when it did life would be better for all of them.
Mohinder had to admit that a part of him thought his father was foolish to cling to such an abstract hope, but a bigger part respected him for it. His father wasn't a quitter, he wouldn't give up even with the odds stacked against him and it was because of that that Mohinder wanted the book to be published just as much as his father, maybe more.
'Yes,' his mother said wearily, 'it is the book, but I just want to make sure you know that you are more important to him than any silly book. Your father loves you so much, and one day he'll be able to take the time to show you that.'
He smiled kindly at her, before placing a loving kiss on her cheek. 'He does show me,' he told me. 'He shows me every day by working so hard.'
She smiled, her eyes filling with tenderness as she placed a loving hand on his cheek. 'You are a good boy, Mohinder,' she told him. 'So wise for your age, but you shouldn't force yourself to grow up so quickly. I hope you don't take after your father. Working hard is wonderful, but you should also take time to enjoy other things in life.'
'Of course,' he returned as she stood from his bed. 'Goodnight, Mother.'
'Goodnight, dear,' she whispered, slipping out his door and leaving him to his thoughts.
Once she was gone, he turned out the lights and pulled back his sheets. His bed was pressed firmly against the far wall, just underneath the window sill, because on sweltering nights like this one, it was the best spot to be. He crawled on top of the mattress to the window, sliding the glass open a crack. His eyes suddenly drifted to the sky.
The stars were twinkling brighter than they had in days and his mind suddenly drifted off to one of Claire's stories. A fond smirk spread across his features as he remembered how the characters had solved all their problems by simply asking a star to grant their wish. Childish nonsense, all of it. As if anything as simple as wishing could be any sort of substitute for hard work.
Chapter 1 - Almost There
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Author's Notes: This is an expansion on my fic " I Know This Story". I know you're all probably disappointed that I'm doing The Princess and the Frog and not Aladdin or The Little Mermaid, but right now, I'm dying for that movie, so this is helping me kill time before the DVD is released. I took some liberties with the ages of characters, so please don't bother pointing out if So-And-So is too young/too old. Keep in mind that, like The Princess and the Frog, this story takes place in an idealized 1920s New Orleans.
It had all started with a book. Any ordinary book, but a book none the less.
They had finished their lessons early and the Bennet children -- so well behaved and sweet when they wanted to be -- kept begging and pleading for a story. Never one to deny his favorite pupils, their tutor had given in. Tonight was Claire's turn to choose the tale, much to her brother's dismay. Lyle had grunted and groaned and rolled his eyes in the least dignified manner, knowing exactly which book his older sibling would choose. It was the same one she chose every single night. Mohinder didn't really mind. It was behavior typical of young children: once they found something that interested them, they wanted to hear about it endlessly, until they were either thoroughly sick of the subject or even more enamored than before.
"And then," he read, the words so familiar that he barely even had to glance at the text to know what line came next or just how to say it, "the ugly little frog looked up with his sad round eyes and pleaded 'Oh please dear Princess, only a kiss from you can free me from this terrible spell that was inflicted on me by a wicked witch!'"
Claire gushed, swooning happily as she clutched her stuffed bear to her chest. She absolutely adored this part and it was always a struggle for him to keep reading instead of bursting into fitful laughter at the sight.
"So moved was she by his pleas, that the Princess scooped down, picked up the slipper little creature and kissed him on the lips."
This line evoked the usual reaction. Claire emitted her typical, dreamy "awwww" as Lyle scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue, a groan of "Ew! Kissing!" escaping his lips. Poor boy. Not that Mohinder could imagine reacting much differently when he was that age.
"And lo, the spell was broken and the frog became a Prince once more," he continued, chuckling as he spoke. "They were married and lived happily ever after."
"Read it again! Read it again!" Claire chanted, bouncing up and down from her seat on the floor.
"No way!" Lyle groused. "Once was enough."
"I'm afraid, Lyle's right," Mohinder said, trying his best to hide the fond smile behind his hand. "It's getting rather late and I should be heading home."
"Mohinder, would you ever kiss a frog?" Claire asked him suddenly, as if he had never spoken.
He felt his eyes widen and a hint of pink color his cheeks at the question. They had probably read through The Frog Prince a dozen times since he had started his tutorship with the Bennets, less than a year ago, yet this was the first time the six year old had ever asked him such a question. "Well, uh... no," he said finally, gently.
"Not even if it asked you to?" Lyle pushed and Mohinder had to wonder where this sudden bout of curiosity had come from.
Yet he pushed aside the confusion and allowed himself to see the humor in the situation. After all, they were merely children being children. It was only natural for the fantasy world of a fairy tale to linger in their minds even when the story had come to a close.
"Well, if the frog could actually ask me something, then I suppose I'd be better off studying it as opposed to kissing it."
"Mohinder, you're so sciencey," Claire exclaimed, running over to her toy chest and grabbing the tiara and wand her parents had purchased for her just a few days ago. He had to admit, he felt like a bit of a failure as a tutor to hear his pupil use the word "sciencey." Claire beamed innocently, plucking the tiara on her head and doing a little twirl, causing ruffles on her pink dress to plum and deflate. "I'd kiss a hundred frogs if I could marry a prince and be a real princess."
"What's so great about princes?" Lyle huffed, picking up a toy sword that Mohinder was certain he had hidden away at the start of their lesson. "They don't get to slay dragons or look for buried treasure. I'd rather be a knight or a pirate than a stupid ol' prince."
The Indian chuckled, patting the boy's golden head fondly. "Well your life will certainly be full of excitement, although there'll be plenty of danger."
Lyle looked up and gave him a wide smile, proudly displaying the gaps in his mouth where teeth should have been. "Danger is good."
It was then that the door creaked open and a fluffy golden Pomeranian scurried in. The creature scampered over to Claire, yapping happily as she scooped him into her arms. The pup was a new addition to the Bennet brood, having only been purchased a few short months ago, and had become an instant favorite among the household.
"Will you be my Prince Charming, Mr. Muggles?" Claire asked, her response an enthusiastic series of licks courtesy of the excited puppy.
Heavy footsteps soon approached the room and Mohinder quickly grabbed his things, stuffing them into his satchel. "Did the lesson go well?" HRG asked. It was a well known fact that the man's proper name was Noah Bennet, but hardly anyone ever called him that. Most simply referred to him as HRG because of the peculiar spectacles he wore.
"Just fine," Mohinder assured, beaming politely in spite of his sudden yearning to escape the Bennet estate. He didn't get on well with HRG. He was a fine man in most ways, a well respected member of the community and a decent sort of fellow, but Mohinder didn't like him. HRG was always flashing him a condescending smile and talking down to him. Honestly, the man seemed convinced that just because they were a few years apart in age, he could treat him like a child. It was a fact that the sixteen year old whole heartedly resented. "They are bright children."
HRG smiled, glancing over at Claire who was busy trying to place a frog hat on Mr. Muggles's furry head and Lyle who was swatting at air. "Yes, a clever pair," he chuckled.
"I should be on my way," Mohinder announced. "My parents will wonder where I am."
"I'll give you a ride," the man instantly volunteered -- like he always did -- but Mohinder refused -- like he always did.
What would his father say if he saw him being driven home by the richest man in town? Even if the Bennets were new money and a kind set, it still seemed quite improper to take hand outs from anyone.
"No, that's alright. I'll take the trolley. Goodnight, sir."
He left quickly, not wanting to continue the usual back and forth banter that the two typically engaged in, because it truly was getting late and his mother -- and perhaps even his father -- would be wondering about him.
-+-+-+-
It always amazed him how quickly the estates of the upper class residence shifted into the run down slums and shacks that made up his neighborhood. America was truly a wonderful place, if you were of the right set. The Suresh family, however, were at several disadvantages.
They were not a wealthy bunch. They had been fairly well off back in India, but somehow the bit of money that they had had been lost during the move to the other side of the ocean -- that was how Mohinder choose to look at it, because even he had to admit that he was still too young to completely comprehend matters of finance. They were foreign, and in this land of opportunity, such a thing was severely frowned upon. Once someone heard their distinctly different accents a cavern of differences seemed to open up and engulf them all. Yet worst of all, they were most certainly not white, and that seemed to seal the fate of their experiences in this new country.
Many nights Mohinder would lay awake thinking of home, his real home in India, and wonder why they had come to this strange new world. He didn't have to look far for his answer, however, as it was always sitting hunched over at the dinner table waiting for him with an indifferent grunt or a thoughtful "humph."
The instant he stepped through the door his mother was by his side, cupping his cheeks in her hands and giving his forehead a tender kiss. 'Welcome home, darling,' his mother greeted in their native tongue. (English was spoken on the streets and Tamil was reserved for home.) 'How was your day?'
'Fine I suppose,' he said, setting his satchel down next to the door, though he knew he shouldn't. It was a habit his mother hated. She was so fearful someone would trip over it. Yet there was never anywhere to set things down in their tiny home. There was no living room or family room (as there had been in their old house in India), there was merely a dining room and kitchen, and his father had confiscated the dining room for his work area. No matter how hard his mother tried to tidy up, there would always be books and papers lying about, things that could not be moved because father had them arranged in a way that only he would be able to make sense of.
A brief silence filled the house hold as Mohinder waited for his father to acknowledge his presence. For the longest time, the Indian man merely sat there, staring at his text and tapping pencil to paper, silent save for the occasional "hmm."
His mother cleared her throat impatiently, gaining her husband's attention. His eyes lifted and he quickly looked towards her and then to Mohinder, offering the teenager a short smile in greeting. 'Hello son,' he said before turning his gaze back to his notes. 'Is dinner almost ready, dear?'
Mohinder watch with mild amusement as his mother rolled her eyes and threw up her arms in defeat. There was simply no use in trying to change his father.
-+-+-+-
He had just begun to turn down his bed when a soft rap came on his door. Mohinder walked over and opened the door, revealing his mother's kind smile and worried eyes staring up at him. His gaunt, awkward teenage body had grown significantly over the past few months. What had once been stubby arms and legs had turned to long, lean limbs seemingly overnight. It was still strange getting used to being able to tower over his mother and father the way he did.
'I just wanted to talk to you,' she said softly. 'If it's alright... were you studying?'
He had been and frankly Mohinder was far too worn out to talk. The young man would not admit it out loud, but handling school and a tutoring job were overwhelming at times, especially when he could not settle for maintaining decent grades, but had to outperform the other students in order to appease his seemingly relentless father. Yet he saw the worry and love in his mother's eyes and knew that he couldn't say no.
'Just finished,' he told her. 'I can talk.'
She nodded gratefully, stepping inside and going to sit on his stiff, straw mattress. Mohinder sat down beside her, knowing he should, and waited patiently for her to speak.
'I wanted to talk with you... about your father,' she began, and Mohinder had to strive not to roll his eyes. It was always about his father. 'I know he can be difficult and at times seem distant, but he really does love you. It's just-'
'I understand, mother,' he cut in, because he did understand. 'It's the book.'
In truth, it wasn't really the book. It was this tiny little house, his frustratingly under paying job, the disappointing country, and Shanti, always Shanti even if no one spoke of her anymore. They lived a stressful life in a frustrating world and his father was dealing with it as best as he could; by throwing himself into his work.
It was the book that had brought them to this country, the book and the dream of getting it published. His father had so many wonderful ideas, but no one in their home land would listen to him. He had been convinced that things would be different in America, because America was the Promise Land, the Land of Opportunity, where everything would be different. Instead it was all worse and instead of letting the guilt take him down, his father kept believing that his dream would come true and that when it did life would be better for all of them.
Mohinder had to admit that a part of him thought his father was foolish to cling to such an abstract hope, but a bigger part respected him for it. His father wasn't a quitter, he wouldn't give up even with the odds stacked against him and it was because of that that Mohinder wanted the book to be published just as much as his father, maybe more.
'Yes,' his mother said wearily, 'it is the book, but I just want to make sure you know that you are more important to him than any silly book. Your father loves you so much, and one day he'll be able to take the time to show you that.'
He smiled kindly at her, before placing a loving kiss on her cheek. 'He does show me,' he told me. 'He shows me every day by working so hard.'
She smiled, her eyes filling with tenderness as she placed a loving hand on his cheek. 'You are a good boy, Mohinder,' she told him. 'So wise for your age, but you shouldn't force yourself to grow up so quickly. I hope you don't take after your father. Working hard is wonderful, but you should also take time to enjoy other things in life.'
'Of course,' he returned as she stood from his bed. 'Goodnight, Mother.'
'Goodnight, dear,' she whispered, slipping out his door and leaving him to his thoughts.
Once she was gone, he turned out the lights and pulled back his sheets. His bed was pressed firmly against the far wall, just underneath the window sill, because on sweltering nights like this one, it was the best spot to be. He crawled on top of the mattress to the window, sliding the glass open a crack. His eyes suddenly drifted to the sky.
The stars were twinkling brighter than they had in days and his mind suddenly drifted off to one of Claire's stories. A fond smirk spread across his features as he remembered how the characters had solved all their problems by simply asking a star to grant their wish. Childish nonsense, all of it. As if anything as simple as wishing could be any sort of substitute for hard work.
Chapter 1 - Almost There